Grimlie Kove: Green as blood
by Durham
Summary: Graf Mandred has been taken prisoner by a renegade group of Orcs. Grimlie Kove must lead a scouting party of pistoliers to track them down before they escape to the mountains.


**Grimlie Kove: Green as blood**

My horse slipped on the blood. Such was the state of the battlefield, that there were pools of it collecting between the strands of grass. I looked down from my horse and wondered briefly why it wasn't green. The blood of course not the grass. My steed nudged the ground, perhaps hoping to find sustenance from the coarse plain grass, but she came up snorting away the smell of Orc blood.

The battle had ended. Or rather the killing had been forcefully sated due to lack of enemy. As a brisk wind whirled amongst the human and orc debris, I made my way between two hills that had served the Imperial forces well as artillery platforms in which to kill from afar. Not that most of the killing had been done at such a 'civilised' distance. Not more than one hundred paces from me, the bodies started to appear. They looked like brightly coloured leaves littering the vast expanse of the plains south of Kislev.

Broken bodies. So many. I saw an arm lying alone, a head, thankfully visored, a young boy still clutching a wooden sword with a determination that had faded in his dead eyes. My horse tiptoed round the fallen body of a soldier his vivid livery now lying amongst the mud. There were crows in the sky, some bigger than others. Various figures moved amongst the dead and wounded left on the field. They were women mostly, hunchbacked as they scanned the bodies for potential wealth. They might find an officer, perhaps even a noble. Then their rusty knives would cut through the lining of pockets and breeches searching for hidden coins or sentimental value. If the bearer still breathed, then the knives would quickly steal that too.

I looked away, flicking my reins to quicken the short journey to the series of tents that had been erected for the Elector Count of Ostermark, to whom my services had been rendered prior to this butchery. Several boiling pans of water were suspended above squat campfires; some of them held beef and already I smelled the scent of soup in the air. Two sentries stood either side of the Counts' tent as I dismounted. They eyed me suspiciously as I approached, the sharp blades of their halberds some of the few that had not been bloodied this day. As a scout I was not wearing any kind of uniform.

'I am here to see his grace as requested.' I said and placed my pistol and blade in their dirty palms. I bowed my head and entered the tent.

The smell of soup was stronger inside. I caught a glimpse of the Count settling down to beef soup and black bread before an aide appeared in front of me. 'Servant?' the aide sneered, almost staring at me through his beak-like nostrils.

'Grimlie Kove, Imperial Scout, sir.' I had expected the surly greeting and brushed it off with neutrality as I stared ahead and over his shoulder.

The aide squinted his eyes slightly as if trying to remember whether the Count's army recruited scouts. 'Very well,' he relented, 'Wait here.'

The Count of Ostermark was a gruff looking man, reminiscent of his sparse and unforgiving kingdom. Sitting south of Kislev, Ostermark usually allied itself with its northern neighbour in times of strife, in fact I would say they favour taking up arms with the legions of the Ice Queen than the Emperor. The aide almost crept to the counts side, saying something I couldn't hear. The count looked at me, drips of soup straining through his beard and back into the bowl below. He raised a thick hand and beckoned me over.

I felt the eyes of other aides and lackeys on me as I moved before the count. 'Well, scout, the battle has been won, the invader stopped in its tracks and I expect the information you gave us helped win the day!' his voice boomed, a northern empire accent but still with the eloquence of Altdorf. I bowed to the praise and was genuinely touched by the recognition of my efforts. 'What was your name again?'

'A Grimlie Kove, your grace.' The aide said, as if classing me as a specimen of some kind.

'Grimlie?' the count looked puzzled, 'A dwarfish name?'

'My Grandfather fought alongside them at Karak Ungor sire.' I said.

The Count nodded, 'A loss that will be redeemed mark my words.' He growled. The aide whispered something to him. 'Thank you for your ever-present and unnecessary guidance, Dieter!' he bellowed back. The aide physically retreated with the force of the words. The count turned back to me, 'As my irritant fellow has reminded me, we have a task to ask from you Grimlie.'

I beamed at the use of my first name, 'Of course, sire.'

'Despite the efforts of our legions, a small orc reserve has escaped our grasp. Not only have they 'fled' into Ostermark territory but they have taken a certain Graf Mandred, son of the Count of Middenheim with them. He was a part of a diplomatic group from Middenland. I want you to find them and retrieve our estranged guest.'

'The Graf is a hostage?' I asked.

The count shrugged, 'Who knows what goes on in the skulls of orcs? But if that is the case then at least we have a hope he is still alive. If he is dead then your purse will be the same, provided you return with proof.'

I glanced at the map that lay out before the count, a goblet of wine stood in the area I wished to point out, 'May I?' The count nodded and I moved aside the cup, 'The River Talabec cuts across the east here.' My grubby finger traced the twitching line on the parchment, 'As our army is to the north of here cutting off an effective line of retreat, I would think the orcs would attempt to cross a fjord that I know of here and perhaps hole up in these woods on the far side for a night or two before crossing the Lower Marshes and into their mountain dwellings.'

'Orcs are enduring beasts, scout.' An aide sneered, 'They might easily cross that distance within a single day and night.'

I pretended to consider this, 'Perhaps, but a wing of cavalry might be able to cut off their route if it travels directly south down the far bank and cuts across here where the woods are narrower in depth.'

'Just as well,' rumbled the count, 'I am assigning you to a detachment of cavalry under Captain Hochrote, together you'll track these renegades and return Mandred safely. Get yourself watered and fed and you'll set off at dawn tomorrow.'

After what seemed only a few moments after I had closed my eyes, I was awoken by the stirrings of horses and men. I had slept on the ground beside a nearby stream and stood fully dressed adjusting my tattered cloak so that it returned from a makeshift blanket to its regular form. Darkness had not yet begun to rise, but what seemed to be a large part of the army was on the move. Perhaps with the bloodshed over, the troops were eager to return to their farms and villages.

With a flurry of thunderous hooves, which literally scattered some militia troops nearby, a squadron of cavalry appeared at the crest of the hill above me. They stood like statues against the backdrop of campfires. Twelve pistoliers, a thin standard held above the seething breaths of the horses. As I approached one of them nudged his mount forward.

'You are a scout?' The face of the horseman was still in gloom.

'Yes, Grimlie Kove. Captain Hochrote, I presume?'

The horseman turned his horse, 'We leave in one hour; be ready.' With that he cantered back up the hill and the rest of the squadron followed.

My horse was bigger than the ones the pistoliers rode; it had been bred in the pastures of Bordeleaux in Brettonia and had cost me a fair sum of silver. I did not regret the sacrifice; a good horse was essential in my trade. The mounts of the pistoliers however were northern steeds, smaller in stature and hind. It surprised me that they were able to trot along with me at such pace. The cavalrymen were adorned with steel breastplates, helmets, carbines and a sizeable amount of equipment and supplies; their horses' size obviously belied a plucky vigour.

This occupied my mind as I rode behind the two lead pistoliers, our group splashed down a shallow stream that would lead us across the path I had assumed the orcs were travelling. Captain Hochrote was suddenly beside me. 'Will we ambush the orcs by nightfall, Kove?' This was the first remark he had directed towards me since we left the Counts' camp. I turned in the saddle; the Captain was a lean but muscular man with piercing blue eyes and a down turned, grim mouth. He had shaved today (unlike myself) and his long dark hair hung down neatly underneath the shell-like cavalry helmet.

'Fighting orcs is one thing. Finding orcs is another.' I smiled, perhaps wanting to undermine a little of the cool exterior the Captain brandished so well.

'Finding them is your job, scout. Leave the fighting to soldiers.'

I ignored the slight insult, 'If we stick close to the river and make good speed, we should intercept them sometime tomorrow, before dawn. It depends upon their 'Boss', how soon he stops for water.'

'You've had dealings with orcs before?' He made it sound as if I was in allegiance with the greenskins!

'Once or twice I've had to run from them, yes.'

The Captain spat onto the bronze sediment in the stream, 'If I see you run tomorrow, I'll shoot you.'

I smiled, 'Why would I run when I have so many brave soldiers with me?' Hochrote gave me a scowl and fell in behind.

At evening we made camp. After a brief forage, the soldiers gathered round a small fire near the waters' edge. They chattered easily and I eavesdropped on talk of past battles, towns where the women and ale were easy and of course their homes. Captain Hochrote sat alone against a tree stump, still in the warmth of the fire but away from its light. He smoked a thin pipe, allowing the misty trails to curve around his stern features.

The night was cold and the forest stirred in its slumber. I had no idea then that we were being watched.

I was woken again by the rousing of soldiers. '_To arms_!' Captain Hochrote was shouting. I peered round past the dying embers of the fire and the unconcerned rippling of the river but could only make out the shapes of strangers in the bare morning light.

Then a pistolier fell screaming. His body writhed for a second as he tried to prise the arrow from his throat, but to no avail and he fell dead in front of me. I leapt to my feet in panic. My mind raced as I scrabbled for my sword and pistol. The trees around me looked more foreboding now, almost claustrophobic. Men's voices shouted in the darkness. Shots screamed out.

The camp was empty now besides the dead trooper and myself. The horses remained, but stamped their hooves in fear. My pistol held before me, I stepped towards the trees.

'Kove!' a voice shouted over my shoulder and I turned to see Captain Hochrote stumble from the undergrowth. His face was splashed with blood but it didn't seem to be his. He came towards me grinning, loading his weapon as he walked.

'What's happening?' I asked. His answer caught in his throat for I recognised a change in the Captain's face. One of alarm. Something he had seen. Behind me.

I turned again. But where there was once forest there now stood a monster. A terrifying vision of slavering teeth, massive shoulders, bloodied loin-cloth and eyes that seemed to glow in the dusky light. An animal-like growl boiled in its throat as it raised a crude blade. I pulled the trigger of my pistol, but the flint snapped down on a damp pan. The orc roared in triumph, a terrible sound that thundered around my skull. Then the thing was upon me.

There is a smell to Orcs that one never forgets. Horses certainly don't and it takes harsh training to get them to charge home against a pack of the brutes. I would say that equal discipline was required of men to do the same, only for different reasons. I woke from unconsciousness with pain that I was relieved to feel. It meant I was still alive. I was in a cage of some kind, thick stakes rammed into the ground and rising to seven feet above me. There was no roof to the cage, but one look at my guard told me there was no need. The Orc warrior snarled when he saw me peering at it and I averted my eyes.

'Morrow, Scout.' I turned to see Captain Hochrote sat at the far side of our prison. I held my head in pain. 'You were lucky. You don't want to know what they did to my men.' Hochrote growled.

'No, I don't.' I said. Hochrote held his side where blood had congealed, a red stained rag also masked his hand. 'Are you okay?'

'I'll live. For now at least.' He tossed his head in a direction outside the cage. I turned to look into the makeshift camp the Orcs had made. I could see no features that might give away where we were, but I could hear running water in the distance so I guessed we couldn't be far from our origin and certainly in Ostermark territory. The Orcs were still not safe. A group of perhaps twenty warriors were huddled on the far side of the clearing, a huge Orc (Their Boss, I surmised) crouching amongst them. Two tents, hastily erected with wood and fur to form inverted V's, held other figures that I couldn't see. Our guard watched the group of warriors. I watched his stout fingers fiddle with the haft of his blade.

'I think they'll keep us alive,' I whispered to Hochrote, 'at least until they reach the mountains.'

'Wouldn't count on that.' Hochrote said, 'I haven't seen the Graf. If they ate _him_…' he managed a morose grin.

I had forgotten about Graf Mandred! I tried to see into the tents but the sun was not yet high enough to allow sufficient light through the forest tops. 'Maybe-' I stopped because at last I caught a glimpse of Graf Mandred. Two female Orcs and what I first took to be Goblins were bringing him out from one of the tents but were actually Orc children. I had never known Orcs to take families along with them on raids into the Empire. The small, pig-nosed children punched and pinched at the human's thighs.

Graf Mandred was younger than I had thought, perhaps still struggling out of boyhood, he stood, bound by rope, with a petulance I imagined he hoped would convey bravery to the snarling Orcs. Suddenly the Orc Boss was barking to our guard. The guard moved to one of the stakes, ripping it from its roots with muscular arms, he gestured impatiently with a clawed hand to both of us.

I looked to Hochrote but he was already struggling to his feet. I did the same, though my head still span a little. The guard hauled me from the cage and after Hochrote who was making his way without hesitation towards the group of Orcs. The Boss pushed to the front of the pack of warriors. They were all still armoured, one or two holding blades or crude bows. They were in complete contrast to the barely clothed female Orcs and children. Hochrote made it to the group before I but was roughly shoved aside as the Boss centred his attention on me. His cruel, bead-like eyes were set in a ragged green face that seemed to be a mass of scar tissue. A rusting iron ring intersected one flat nostril. I tried to back away as this monstrosity bore down on me, but merely stumbled into the sturdy figure of our guard. The Boss drooped a flabby lip around a tusk-like fang, 'U a quik 'rida?' The grumbling words seemed strange coming from the maw of the Orc.

'Yes.' I hoped that was the right answer and thankfully the Orc seemed satisfied. However, he grabbed my head and pulled me with him as he walked. With his hand fitting over the entire back of my skull he pointed with his other hand into the distance. Between the ranks of foliage, the World's Edge Mountains shone polished in the rising sunlight.

'Take us der, past 'umies!' The Boss spat in my ear.

I stared at the thick green face. They wanted a scout. A scout to take their females and children back home. Hochrote shouted from where he was being held by two warriors, 'What do they want, Kove?'

'They want me to lead them past the Imperial patrols.' I looked unbelievingly at the Boss, who simply regarded me with suppressed anger. The female Orcs looked at me with more hopeful faces though.

'Out of the question!' Mandred spoke up, nudging away the teasing attentions of the Orc toddlers. 'They will surrender me to the Imperial authorities and hope my father shows mercy to their worthless hides!' He yelped as an Orc child thumped him roughly in the stomach. Captain Hochrote wisely remained silent, but his eyes burned in anger as I nodded ascent to the Orc Boss.

The Boss gripped my chin in a vice-like grip, his eyes burning into mine, 'Past da 'umies.' He repeated.

The day was reaching its zenith, the sun shining dimly and clouds were forming on the peaks of the mountains ahead of us. I had tried to persuade the Boss that travelling at night might be better but he seemed determined to get home and I was anxious not to upset him. I led on foot from the front. The stamina of the Orcs was amazing and every time I slowed a spear point in my back would give me a boost of energy. Mandred and Hochrote had been gagged and were somewhere behind. Horses, including my own, were being dragged by the Orc females and I imagined their purpose was to be food for our journey.

I didn't exactly know where the Ostermark patrols were going to be, but my instincts might just get us through. I worried about what would happen once our worth had expired. Would the Orcs let us go? I doubted that. I had to think of something. An Orc child ran ahead of the warriors, a young male, eager to prove himself and already carrying a crude spear he had fashioned from a branch. One of the Orcs barked something at him and he sulkily returned to the rear.

The ground was becoming less solid as we followed the trail of the Lower Talabec towards its source. Some marsh fog still curled around my feet as snakes slithered amongst the mud and the air was becoming acrid. But a patch in the mist allowed me to see something that made me more tense than even before.

Footprints. Human footprints.

I looked around in alarm. An Imperial patrol must be close. I held up my arm to stop our group, needing to find my bearings, but the Orc warrior behind shoved me onward. I heard a growl behind me, turning to see the Boss sniffing at the dank air. His brows rose in alarm when a scent obviously caught in his nostrils, 'umies…' he snarled. He withdrew the heavy blade from his side, those blood-red eyes glaring at me.

'Halt in the name of the Emperor!' The voice boomed loud amongst the marsh. I now spotted figures in the thinning mists. The Orc Boss roared, obviously thinking I had betrayed them somehow, and hurried towards me. The Orc closest made to grab me but only managed to rip my cloak as I recoiled from the grip.

A musket shot rang out. Some of the female Orcs swept up their children and began to run in the direction of the mountains.

Captain Hochrote, bound and gagged, was dropped in the mud but Graf Mandred was being hauled away by an Orc warrior. I saw a plume of blood fountain from the warrior's shoulder and Mandred fell onto his knees. The Boss' blade suddenly chopped the air inches from my head. I scrambled in the wet ground as the huge Orc slashed at me. Imperial troops were crashing through the undergrowth shouting and yelling.

In my struggles to get away from the Orc Boss, my hand sunk into a pool of stagnant water, the putrid slime soaking my sleeve. But my fingers found a thin branch of fallen wood there. I brought it up and swung it frantically before me. The Orc Boss sneered, crushing my makeshift weapon with his heavy blade. However, the force of his swing sunk the blade into the ground and I took the chance to get to my feet. More in panic than bravado, I charged into the thickset figure of my attacker, digging an elbow into the Orc's face. With his free hand, the Orc clutched at my throat, the claws cutting into my neck as he lifted me from the ground.

The Orc Boss roared as he brought his blade upwards towards my belly, his grip unyielding. His strength seemed to sap away however, and as I opened my eyes I saw bloody steel protruding from the orcs' chest. The Orc gurgled, still holding me aloft as blood bubbled between his jaws. Then those red eyes seemed to fade and he came towards me again, only this time gravity forcing his impetus. I fell too, escaping the dead Orc's grasp. Captain Hochrote stood above me, his sword lowered into the back of the Orc Boss. 'I told you to leave the fighting to soldiers, Kove.' He grinned.

The Imperial patrol had cut off the fleeing Orcs and had cornered them some yards away. Graf Mandred was shouting for them to be slaughtered and for dry clothes in which to change into with equal gusto. I gasped for a clear breath as Hochrote helped me to my feet. The Orcs had huddled into a rough circle, the females and children behind a boundary of tired warriors and shields. The Imperial troops surrounded them, loading their handguns.

'What are they doing?' I cried to Hochrote.

He looked on impassively as Mandred, now mounted on a mare, took relish in exacting revenge on his former captives, 'They are doing their duty by the Empire, Kove.' He said without emotion.

Some of the Orc warriors, roared over their shields, holding blades determinedly, though they were now useless. A wailing sound, akin to fear came from inside the Orc barricade. I watched in horror as Mandred carefully and slowly gave the order to raise muzzles, aim and fire. The handguns spat flame and the scene was thankfully masked by thick smoke.

However when the smoke rose, only the warriors and some of the females had fallen bleeding and twitching in the mud. Three Orc females still stood, they clutched a gang of children to their sides in the middle of the carnage. Their faces were grim as if they had expected no other fate from these humans.

The muzzles were raised a second time. I turned away, feeling sick, 'If this is fighting, Captain.' I said to Hochrote, 'I will gladly leave it to soldiers.'

I walked back the way we had come, back into Ostermark, past the scattered bodies of other Orcs. It seemed that recently I was always walking amongst green bodies and red blood.

ALSO:

Grimlie Kove: Night Raider

Grimlie Kove: Black Waters


End file.
